


To Be Loved By Him

by faerierequiem



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, but in actuality this takes place during the trojan war (with a mystery thrown in of course), my sucky summary makes this sound like a detective au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerierequiem/pseuds/faerierequiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patroclus is framed for a crime he did not commit, a mysterious boy is his only clue to discovering who the true culprit is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Loved By Him

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to 12 instrumental TSOA playlists while writing this and some of them multiple times. That’s a lot of playlists, but I would recommend seeking out instrumental TSOA playlists on 8tracks to listen as you read.  
> Consider this a TSOA mystery fanfic. Hopefully this also feels like a story from Achilles and Patroclus' time during the Trojan War that didn't make it into the book. (I guess this takes place roughly 6 or so years into the war, but that's not very important. Just a detail. The more you know, you know.)  
> Enjoy!

A hush fell over us all at the sight of the girl. She was beautiful in every manner of the word. With her smooth skin, brown locks, and eyes that glowed the color of the skies, there was no doubt that Aphrodite had had a hand in her creation, but it was not simply her beauty that stunned us, but her undeniable youth. She was by far the youngest girl to have ever stood on the dais.

Diomedes was the first to ask the question that hung in the silence. “How old are you, girl?”

The girl lowered her gaze. When she spoke, her answer was quiet, but it did not matter, because we all listened intently. “I am twelve, nearly thirteen.” Her Greek was excellent, marking her even more apart from the previous girls who had mainly spoken Anatolian.

A murmur spread through the crowd and from his spot near the dais, Achilles turned to look at me. I nodded. It would do a girl of such an age much good to be safe in our hands. I also reckoned Briseis would appreciate taking care of her. She could be like a little sister.

Someone else was quick to beat Achilles to the claim. “I will take her,” Odysseus announced.

Surprisingly, no one argued and Odysseus reached out a hand, gently guiding the girl from the dais.

Despite having granted Odysseus permission to take her, I did not like the hungry way Agamemnon had eyed after the girl. I was relieved. Better Odysseus have her than Agamemnon or some of the other men. With Odysseus, she would be safe. Odysseus was far too fond of Penelope and I knew Odysseus had a son, Telemachus, awaiting his return back in Ithaca. I was not sure of Telemachus’ exact age, but I knew he was a young boy. Perhaps this girl would be like a daughter to Odysseus.

The remainder of the war spoils was distributed. Afterwards, Achilles approached me, holding a vase in his hands. He showed me it. On the vase, there was an illustration of a centaur chasing after a nymph. We grinned at each other.

“If only there was some way of getting this to Chiron,” Achilles said.

My smile widened. “I’m sure he would love it very much.”

Achilles caught sight of something behind me and I turned to see Odysseus with the young girl trailing after him.

“Odysseus!” Achilles called. “Please let the girl know that she is welcomed to come spend time with my girls at any time she wishes.”

Odysseus glanced at Achilles in amusement. “Is there another meaning hidden behind your visitation,  _Aristos Achaion_?”

“I’m only thinking that she might get lonely and would like the company of other girls,” Achilles said. His eyebrows drew together in innocent confusion, unable to or—more likely—unwilling to understand the suggestion behind Odysseus’ playful question.

Odysseus chuckled at his expression. “Very well,” he said. “I am sure she would be eager to become acquainted with your girls.” He bid us leave of him and the girl followed, wordlessly acknowledging us as she passed. I noticed the way her eyes lingered on Achilles before looking away.

“I think she’s taking a liking to you,” I whispered to him.

“I’ll have to make sure I don’t break her heart,” Achilles said.

I shook my head and he laughed.

* * *

The war raged on. One day as I waited for Achilles to return from a raid, Automedon appeared at the entrance of the tent Achilles and I shared. Through the open flap, I could see that night was descending upon the day. I wondered what was busying Achilles so.

“Patroclus, I’ve been given a message that you are to go meet Achilles on top of the hill beyond the camp,” Automedon reported.

Intrigue grew in me. What could Achilles possibly want with me there? I recalled the first day we had arrived in Troy, how the both of us had gone to the top of that hill to gaze at the camp and the sea. Maybe he wanted to watch the sunset, although it puzzled me why he would want to do it without changing out of his armor and into more comfortable garments.

I thanked Automedon for delivering the message and left shortly afterwards for the hilltop. I heard a faint commotion from behind as I walked up the hill, but thought nothing of it. Arguments were not rare among so many men.

Achilles was not yet present. I had arrived before him.

I waited, watching the movement of the tides against the shore from my spot. When he still had not appeared, I sat down and ran my fingers through the grass. I could not stop myself from suspecting. Automedon was an honest boy and he was not one to play tricks. If not from Achilles, I wondered who else he could have received the message from.

A dark mass was heading towards the hill.

As the group made their way up, noisy in their approach, I got to my feet. Worry and confusion battled over my emotions. What was happening? There was no way any of this could possibly be the Trojans.

I recognized Agamemnon’s loud voice before I could make out his form.

“Patroclus!” His voice trembled with anger as he cried out my name.

Fear snatched away my voice. I searched for Achilles amongst the group, caught sight of him coming to Agamemnon’s side, his hair a pale beacon in the half-light. “Patroclus is innocent!” I heard him say. “The accusation is false! He would never steal your daughter’s trinket!”

“It is not a trinket!” Agamemnon shouted. “It was an amulet!” He barked an order at his men to search me, but Achilles turned to stop them.

“If any of you lay a hand on him, I will make sure you pay for it with your life,” he threatened.

Agamemnon was furious. “How dare you!”

Odysseus’ voice sounded amongst the chaos, light-hearted and at ease. “Can we all attempt to be civil about this? If Patroclus is innocent, then he is innocent. A quick search won’t do him any harm.”

“He does not have to prove his innocence,” Achilles protested.

I found myself able to speak again. “Achilles, it’s alright. Let them search me.”

A man moved forward. It was Diomedes.

Achilles watched him like a quiet predator, ready to pounce at any moment.

Diomedes moved past me. “What is this?”

It took me a moment to see what had caught his eye. A white cloth laid on a distant spot of grass with something placed on top of it.

Diomedes picked up the object and turned it in his fingers. When he finished evaluating it, he straightened and came to hold it out to Agamemnon. “Is this Iphigenia’s amulet?”

Agamemnon snatched the object from Diomedes’ palm. He surveyed it. Then, he nodded. “Yes, this is hers.”

I stared in shock.

Achilles was quick to protest. “It may be her amulet, but Patroclus did not steal it.”

“Silence!” Agamemnon commanded. “I will hear no more from you! It is clear that he stole it and tried to hide it away, but was unable to before we confronted him.” He directed his next words towards me. “You should have thought twice before trying to take from me!”

Before Achilles could get a word or hit in, Menelaus stepped between him and Agamemnon. “Why don’t you both take some time to cool you heads? We will discuss matters at tonight’s meeting.”

Agamemnon and Achilles shared a look similar in distaste, but neither voiced disagreement. Turning his back sharply to us, Agamemnon retreated with the men.

“Unfortunate that you had to be up here at such a time,” Odysseus remarked to me, lingering back a moment.

“What are you accusing him of?” Achilles asked.

“Do not be hostile, Prince Achilles,” Odysseus said. “I do not accuse him of anything, but I suspect that someone has framed Patroclus for this crime.” With that, he left.

Achilles faced me, placing a hand on my arm. “What are you doing up here?”

“I was told that you wanted to meet me here,” I said. My old suspicions were returning. I would have to ask Automedon who had given him the message.

Achilles shook his head. “I have been with Omorhpia.”

Omorhpia. The young girl Odysseus had taken under his custody. No one knew her real name. She didn’t say, so the men had taken it upon themselves to give her a nickname. “Omorhpia” was not a very clever invention, but it was practical and fitting, simply meaning “beauty” in our language. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I hope you aren’t getting her hopes up,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but one could never be too careful. As skilled as he was on the battlefield, there were some things that Achilles was naïve in regards to. Girls being one of them. I had caught Omorhpia gazing at Achilles enough times to know that her feelings still hadn’t changed from the first day she’d arrived.

Achilles took slight offense to my words, taking his hand off me and moving back a step. “She needed my help with a task. It required strength. Then she began to talk of her family. It seemed as if she desired an audience very much, so I didn’t have the heart to excuse myself.”

“That was kind of you,” I said. “She does appear to be very lonely. Briseis told me Omorhpia rarely visits her and the other girls.”

Achilles considered my words. “She’s shy. I’m sure she’ll warm up to them as she did to me.”

“Or perhaps you’re special.” I only realized the moment I spoke the words how they must make me sound. Even Achilles did not miss it.

“Do I hear jealousy, Patroclus?” He asked.

“Well, she is beautiful,” I said, thankful for the cover of nightfall. “But I know who I am special to and that is all that matters.”

Achilles smiled. “Indeed.” He moved close to kiss me.

* * *

I did not attend the meeting with Achilles. I knew that as the prime suspect it was not my place to—nor did I want to be glared at by Agamemnon any more than I already had been, so I stayed behind and ate supper with Phoinix. We discussed trivial matters that did not do much to pull my thoughts from wandering elsewhere.

Afterwards, I bid Phoinix a good night and left for my own tent. On the way, I noticed a pair of Myrmidons pitching up a new tent.

Achilles entered our tent as I was readying for bed. His face was set in anger, silent and fuming, but present in his frown and narrowed eyes.

I got up to hold him. “What’s wrong?”

“Agamemnon still believed you were guilty,” Achilles said, bitterly. “They decided that as punishment you are to sleep in your own tent until the next new moon.”

I recalled the tent I had seen the Myrmidons preparing. “That is not too terrible of a punishment,” I said. I gave him a smile, trying to soften his mood.

It did nothing. He did not find this fair and his mind would not be swayed so easily. “A new moon hangs in the sky above us as we speak.”

I understood. Back at Mount Pelion, Chiron had not only taught us of the stars, but the moon. “The moon is never constant in her appearance. She wanes and waxes with the passing of time.” He told us of the moon’s cycles, how each cycle spanned the length of thirty days. Afterwards Achilles and I had tracked the moon’s progress, counting out the days and finding Chiron to be correct.

If Achilles had asked me to be honest, I would have admitted to him that the thought of having to sleep away from him, of falling asleep alone, and of waking up to him not next to me, devastated me, so I was relieved my honesty was not asked for. I made a vow to myself: I would find out who had framed me. Then, my punishment would be cut short.

Achilles sat on the bed and watched as I collected my things for my leave. The anger in his eyes had faded now, replaced by growing unhappiness. He would be lonely without me as well.

“You should have heard what Agamemnon said when I was leaving and he thought I could not hear him,” he said. “He said you were a thief that had not only stolen his daughter’s amulet, but my heart.”

I halted in my preparations and straightened to look at him.

Achilles did not meet my eyes. “He is a mindless fool. You do not steal my heart from me. I give it willingly.”

“Achilles.” His name left me in a single breath. I could not help myself. Tears came to my eyes, but I willed them not to spill.

Achilles stayed quiet. He looked to the ground. I felt he was more astounded by his confession than I was. We loved each other. We were both more than aware of that. We lived our love each and every single day, but to have our affections spoken of in such a manner… It left us speechless, because some truths rarely transcended into the world—no matter how true. Now that it had been spoken out loud, the truth took us a moment to grasp.

Once I was able to compose myself, I moved to kiss Achilles. As my lips brushed against his, I told him, “I’ll cherish your heart always.”

* * *

It was only when I neared the tent did I truly understand how much Agamemnon meant to punish me. The tent had been hastily prepared with flaps that didn’t even close properly and an interior that could barely fit a grown man. I had to bend down as I entered, finding there to be no pallet, only pillows and a single blanket.

Given that there was no other place available to put them, I crawled forward and placed my belongings underneath the pillows. I thought of Achilles in our tent with the warm bed we shared. My heart ached with longing.

 _It is only for a month,_ I assured myself.  _This will be over with soon enough._

“Patroclus?”

My head nearly hit the top of the tent as I turned to look over my shoulder. In the darkness, I could not see who it was. I guessed at the owner of the voice. “Automedon?”

“Yes, it is I,” Automedon spoke. “Phoinix wanted me to bring over a few blankets.”

I twisted around in the tent, trying not to collapse it in the process, and reached for the blankets. “Give Phoinix my thanks,” I said, gratefully. I took the blankets from Automedon’s outstretched hands. They were soft to the touch and would be thick enough to keep me warm even with the opened flaps.

“Of course.” Automedon made move to leave, but I quickly remembered what it was that I had been meaning to ask him.

I leaned forward, kept my voice low and hushed. “Automedon, I was wondering if you could tell me who it was that gave you the message that Achilles wanted to meet me on the hill?”

Automedon was nothing but a still, dark shadow as he thought. After a moment, he said, “It was a boy.”

“A boy?” I asked.

“Yes,” Automedon answered. “It was a boy who was younger than I was. I remember thinking he had not yet reached maturity. He was dirty and thin and ill, I think. He kept coughing when he talked.”

I frowned. I did not doubt Automedon’s words, for I had known him long enough to trust him, but there was no one in all the camps who matched that description. Whoever it was who had framed me was clever. I would admit that.

“I-I did ask him who he was, Patroclus,” Automedon added. “But all he would tell me was that he served Agamemnon.”

At that, my frown deepened. Could it be that Agamemnon had been the one to set me up? If so, what did he gain from this? Achilles already hated him enough.

I thanked Automedon. After he left, I laid down. The blanket underneath provided me a non-existent bed, but I paid no mind to it as I settled Phoinix’s blankets over me.

The effects of the blankets’ comfort did not last for long. I was aware of my back pressing against the hard ground and my feet sticking out of the tent. I turned to my side and curled up just enough so that my feet no longer stuck out. Lying like that, I was reminded of the nights when I was younger, when I had arrived at Phthia, the nights before Achilles when there had been nothing but dread and loneliness.

I closed my eyes and willed myself to concentrate on falling sleep. It did not come fast enough, but at least by then I was far too exhausted to care of what haunted the edges of my mind.

* * *

I was startled awake by a touch against the bottom of my feet. Quickly, I sat up, expecting a snake or the point of a spear or worse.

“I can’t believe you have to sleep in this monstrosity.”

At the sight of Achilles standing at the tent entrance, armor-clad and innocuous, and nudging my feet with his toe, I relaxed. “Good morning to you, too,” I said, managing a smile. Tiredness beckoned me to lie back down and sleep, but I became aware of the aching in my muscles and doubted I would be able to fall sleep again quite so easily.

Achilles did not return the smile. His eyes were sharp and brooding. When he spoke, the tone of his voice matched the look in his eyes. “This is a child’s tent. It’s worse than the tents for the women.”

“I am being punished,” I reminded him. “Punishment does not come with luxuries.”

Achilles was unrelenting. “But  _this_?” He gestured around the tent. “This is horrid even for a punishment.”

“Please, Achilles. I’ll be fine.” I leaned forward, taking his hand in mine. “Actually, even though it may not look like it, it is comfortable in here.”

Achilles stared at me as if I had three heads. “You are lying.”

“And your mother adores me.” I placed a kiss to the back of his hand.

Achilles shook his head, but I caught his small smile before it slipped away. “Alright. I will take your word for it, but hopefully this tent isn’t as comfortable as ours.”

Now it was my turn to stare up at him as if he were three-headed. “Never,” I promised. I was almost unable to disguise my horror.

Achilles laughed. He placed his helmet onto his head, covering his golden hair, and grasped my hand in a brief, tight squeeze. “Now that I have seen you, I can go off to the battle happy.”

* * *

It was not a busy day at the surgeon’s tent. After Machaon and I had finished tending to the wounds of the few soldiers, we settled outside to gaze up at the blue sky and wait for any new patients.

A child of one of the slave women walked up to us on two, unsteady feet. He eyed us with a gaze that did not waver even when he lost his balance and I had to rush forward to catch him by the arms. He stared up at me with wide, uncomprehending eyes. I wondered what it was like, seeing the world for the first time.

As I brushed dirt from the child’s skin, Machaon went back inside the tent. He came back out with two cups of wine.

I stood back up and took one, voicing my thanks.

We watched the child wobble off. His head turned this way and that as he went. When he lost footing again, I moved to help, but Machaon stopped me. “Let the child learn how to take care of himself, Patroclus,” he said. “He will have to learn that that is the way of the world.”

I disagreed. “One is not always without the help of others,” I told Machaon, but I watched the child get back to his feet on his own.

Machaon took a drink of his wine. “There is talk that you tried to steal from Agamemnon.”

I nearly choked on my wine and tried to compose myself, aware of Machaon watching me.

When I did not speak, Machaon continued, “After last night’s meeting, Podalerius came back pleased to tell me that Agamemnon’s face was the reddest he’d ever seen it be. ‘Redder than Menelaus’ hair’ he said. I have not seen him laugh so hard since the war began.”

A flood of relief filled me and I was glad I had not attended the meeting. I cleared my throat. “I did not steal Iphigenia’s amulet.”

“Oh?”

“The circumstances might prove the contrary, but I am being honest when I say that someone else is to blame,” I said.

“Do you any idea who it is?” Machaon asked, curious.

I shook my head. “No, not yet, but I will find out.”

* * *

After I finished assisting Ajax with his acid stomach, I bid farewell to Machaon and left for mine and Achilles’ tent. I heard a pair of laughter as I neared the tent. Achilles’ laugh was familiar, musical and carefree, but the other laugher I did not recognize until I entered the tent and saw Omorhpia.

Her laughter was just as beautiful as the rest of her. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed with her hands folded on her lap. Her attention was solely on Achilles, but when the tent flaps moved as I walked inside, she turned her head and gave me a polite smile.

I nodded to her. “Hello.”

“Patroclus!” Achilles threw his arms around me.

I could smell the drink on his breath. “Have you had too much to drink?” I asked.

He shook his head, smiling. “No, I was just telling Omorhpia about the first time you tried gutting a fish at Mount Pelion. Remember how startled you were when the fish began moving?”

My mouth quirked at the memory. “I do,” I said. “Chiron came running over, thinking I had been attacked by an animal.”

Achilles laughed. “Yes!” He turned to Omorhpia and explained, “Patroclus thought the fish was dead, so when it flicked its tail, he screamed and dropped it to the ground, afraid that the fish had come back to life.”

Omorhpia nodded. “Yes, you have told me already, Prince Achilles.”

“Oh.” Surprise flickered across Achilles’ face, but then he was asking her, “Did I tell you about how afterwards he had nightma—?”

I covered Achilles’ mouth and settled him down in a chair. Keeping my hand over his mouth, so that he would stay quiet, I asked Omorhpia if she could go retrieve a remedy from the physician’s tent. Achilles was not one to drink heavily and he would be unused to the side-effects. It would be wise to help lessen them—even if only in intensity.

Obediently, Omorhpia got to her feet and quickly made her way out to Machaon.

As soon as my hand lifted from Achilles’ mouth, he was talking. “Patroclus, I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning,” I said.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” Achilles grabbed hold of my hands and swung them side-to-side. “I missed you last night. I was so lonely I almost couldn’t bear it. I was half-tempted to leave the tent and go to you. Did you think of me?”

“Of course I did.” I was cautious, slightly unused to this intoxicated Achilles. He was honest even more than he usually was, but also lighter in this certain way that made me think of our childhood. Even though I could still see the boy in him, we had both grown up and there were qualities that had faded with time. Now something I hadn’t even realized was missing shone from him as he grinned up at me, drunkenly. It was almost as if we were nine, thirteen, sixteen, chasing each other across the beach and fooling around under Peleus’ nose and exploring the forests—and no longer men in the middle of a war.

I closed my eyes.

Achilles pulled me towards him, resting the side of his face against my chest. “I’m glad,” he said. “I kept wondering if you were lying awake and thinking of me, too. It is torture. I don’t think I can handle anymore of it.”

I placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It is only twenty-nine more nights, Achilles,” I told him. “You have faced far worse than that.”

“No.” Achilles turned his face and his nose brushed against my tunic. “ _We_  have faced far worse than that.”

I smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Sometimes.” Achilles’ voice was sheepish. “Between the two of us, you are always right.”

I laughed and embraced him. “Not always.”

“You are correct when it matters most,” Achilles argued. “And that’s what’s important.”

“I think you should drink more often,” I said to him. “It makes you wiser.”

“Patroclus!” Achilles pushed at me.

By the time Omorhpia arrived with the small bottle of mixture that would help Achilles, we were wrestling on the bed, shouting and laughing as if we were nine, thirteen, sixteen again—and no longer men in the middle of a war.

* * *

Weeks passed. I counted down the days until I would be able to rest by his side again. Briseis helped me fix my tent. We made it large enough so that my feet no longer stuck out and that my things did not need to be placed under the pillows. She weaved me a mat to sleep on. Afterwards, my muscles no longer ached. I ran to thank her for her kindness, promising her my assistance if ever she needed it.

Briseis laughed. “You would help me even if I hadn’t made you the mat, Patroclus,” she said. “And I made you the mat not in expectation of a favor in return. That is the way of friendship.”

One day, Odysseus appeared at my tent.

I was surprised to see him standing there, but acknowledged his presence. “Odysseus.”

“I have information that could be of use to you,” he said.

I glanced at my tent. I doubted that he would want to be invited inside, so instead I gestured Odysseus underneath the shade of a tree. “What is the information you have for me?” I asked.

He answered my question with one of his own. “Do you wonder how it is that Diomedes found Iphigenia’s amulet that day on the hill?”

I frowned. The obvious answer was that Diomedes had simply spotted the amulet on the white cloth, but I knew Odysseus was hinting at more than that. Although  _what_  he was hinting at, I did not know nor understand. Was it Diomedes who had been the one to set me up? First Agamemnon and now him. In the end, I still could not fathom what their motives would be.

“He said to me,” Odysseus continued, seeing that I had nothing to say, “that someone had told him they’d seen you walking off with the amulet wrapped in a white cloth.”

“What?” I stared in bewilderment. “Who was it? What did this person look like?”

Odysseus’ words were slow and measured as he listed off a description. “A youth of a boy. Skinny and wide-eyed. Dark-haired. Dirt across his cheeks and arms.”

“Tell me,” I started, my voice quiet, “did he cough when he spoke?”

Odysseus leaned back against the tree. “Yes, Diomedes spoke of him having an awful cough,” he said. He eyed me inquisitively. “Do you know this boy?”

I shook my head. “No, but Achilles’ charioteer described the exact same boy as the one who delivered the message that Achilles wanted to meet me on the hill. He also told me that the boy said he was a servant of Agamemnon.”

Odysseus rubbed his chin in thought. “Agamemnon does not have a servant of such a character.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “And there is no one who fits that description amongst anyone in the camps.”

“What about the children?” Odysseus asked.

“The oldest child has barely reached five years of age,” I said.

“This is most interesting.” Odysseus made a contemplative sound and his eyes glinted with intrigue. “What an unusual mystery we have upon us.”

I nodded.

Odysseus stepped out from the shade. “If you ever find out who this mysterious culprit is, then you must tell me, Patroclus. I want to know who is capable of being clever enough to outwit us all.”

* * *

I hurried to Achilles so that I could discuss the matter of this strange boy with him. What would he think? I had not yet told him of anything, knowing that he would be angry at the mention of this boy possibly being a servant of Agamemnon, but now I did not want to be the only one trying to seek out the truth.

I poked my head into the tent. “Achilles—”

I quickly fell silent, frozen by the sight before me.

On the bed, Achilles leaned over Omorhpia, caressing her body with his hands as hers roamed over his bare chest and back. He was naked, his tunic having been undone and tossed to the floor. The strong muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin shifted as he moved to kiss her. I looked away just as she began to wrap her legs around him.

I stepped back from the tent to give them privacy. Something like shock pulsed through my veins, though I knew better than to be surprised. They both got along well. During a few of the past days, I had gotten to know Omorhpia a bit better. She remained elusive as ever, but she was mild-mannered and had a caring heart. I liked her well enough. She complemented Achilles in ways other girls had not. Perhaps that was why she was special.

I turned and retreated back to my tent. For the first time, I was grateful for the solitude it provided me.

The sun had not yet set, but I lay on Briseis’ mat and stared up at the ceiling of the tent, because I did not feel like doing anything else.

Words repeated in my head, reassurances almost.  _He loves you more than anyone._  I knew that to be truer than any fact in this world, but when I closed my eyes all I could see was the image of his lips upon hers.

* * *

The majority of the next day I spent in the surgeon’s tent, tending to patients and mixing ointments and retrieving herbs. On several occasions Machaon noted my newfound energy. It was not until our duties dwindled that he insisted I leave.

“I can handle the rest myself, Patroclus,” he said.

I did not want to leave. In here I was busy and could keep my mind off of other things. “Why don’t you take a break?” I asked him. “You must be tired.”

Machaon studied me, questioning, and then he placed his hand to my shoulder and guided me outside the tent. “Whatever it is you are trying to avoid, you must go and confront it. Problems do not stay at a distance forever.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he stopped me. “And I am not as old as you may think I am,” he said with a humorous smile. “Don’t be so hasty to take over my position.”

“Of course, Machaon.” I could not look up from the ground. “Until tomorrow then.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “Until tomorrow.”

I wandered around the edges of the camp before entering the forest. I did not want to visit Briseis, because she would sense something was wrong and would want to talk about it. I did not want to visit Phoinix, because he would be the same. I wanted to see Achilles, but not at the moment. Him and Omorhpia. Omorhpia and him. I could accept it, but for now I needed time.

The trees stood still as I walked by, letting me be. They would never ask me if I was alright and in that huge difference, I was thankful. Sometimes the forest was all one needed.

I reached the stream. The water trickled leisurely by, keeping to its own pace and gleaming in the sunlight. I could not resist dipping a toe into it. The water was cool to touch. The sun was warm against my back. For a moment, I did not move and the warmth spread throughout my body, my toe being the only part that it could not reach.

As I was about to undress, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist.

My eyes widened in surprise, but only one man alive was capable of being as silent as the dead. “Achilles.”

He placed a kiss to the side of my neck. “Where were you this morning?”

“I—I woke up early to help Machaon,” I said.

Achilles made a noise of understanding. He continued pressing kisses to my neck and along my shoulders. Each time he did the image of him kissing Omorhpia manifested in my mind. I wished the images away, but they would not leave, maddening in their presence.

He spoke and I felt his breath against my skin. “It’s been too long, Patroclus.”

One of his hands strayed downwards. I wanted to succumb to the pleasure, but before he could do anything, I turned around. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop to think them over. “How did it feel, doing it with her?”

Achilles looked puzzled. “Her?”

“It is alright to be honest, Achilles,” I told him. “You do not have to hide anything. I saw. If you enjoyed it, then there is no need to pretend that you did not.”

He stared at me, but I saw recognition dawning in his eyes.

I did not know what else to say. He did not have to be ashamed. I did not want him to feel that way. “Omorhpia is a wonderful girl and she does like you a lot.”

The confusion returned to his face. “Omorhpia?” He asked. “Patroclus, what are you talking about?”

I was speechless. Had he heard anything I’d said to him? Did he not trust me with this? Hurt stung at my emotions. “You know full well what I’m talking about.” I said, my voice trembling.

Guilt grew in his expression. “I—I do not know why I did it, Patroclus. I think I was drunk. I remember Omorhpia, but it couldn’t have been her. I did not feel—” He faltered. “The person—they had a chest as flat as a boy’s.”

I took a step back and nearly fell into the stream, but Achilles reached out a hand and caught me before I could fall. I shook his hand off, unable to understand why he would lie to me. There had never been any lies between us. We always told each other everything. Any reason why he would not tell me the truth now brought fear to me, mingling with the pain.

“We did not do much.” Achilles reached out to me again, frantic. “They—”

I avoided his touch and looked away. “Leave.” My voice was not half the strength I wanted it to be.

“Patroclus—”

I turned my back to him. “I need a moment to myself, Achilles.” A sob nearly broke out of me. “ _Please_.”

The forest went quiet. When I was sure he had gone, I wiped the tears from my eyes. Why had he lied? Had he enjoyed it with her so much that he was afraid my feelings would be hurt if I knew? Didn’t he know what wounded me more?

When at last my breaths had evened and my eyes stayed dry, I slowly made my way back to the camp. Each step I took felt heavy as if I were Atlas, carrying the heavens upon my shoulders, except that I was a mere man and simply the weight of my aching heart was nearly enough to crush me as I walked.

Something broke through my troubles. “Hurry!”

I stopped. The hushed voice had almost sounded foreign to my ears. I listened and glanced around for the source of it. Through the trees, I saw two figures moving briskly as if they were being chased. I neared closer, keeping to the shadows and leaning low, but when I recognized one of the people I stood up. “Omorhpia?”

She halted, her back straight, before turning to face me with her blue eyes wide.

The man she walked with I recognized as a Myrmidon. I’d help Machaon cure him of an illness once before. He was a good man, but when I saw how frightened Omorhpia looked, I fixed a glare at him. There were many possibilities why he would be out pushing an innocent girl along through the woods, but not one of them good.

He flinched. “She wants me—”

Omorhpia placed a hand on his arm and turned back to look at him.

Quickly, he walked away.

I ran over to her. “Omorhpia, are you alright?”

She stared down at her hands, but the way her bottom lip trembled worried me.

And then she looked up at me and the hate in her eyes was enough to make me choke. Only three others—my father, Deidameia, and Thetis—had ever looked at me like that before. I would have never expected her—gentle Omorhpia—to be the fourth.

“I would slap you,” Omorhpia said, “but here you are, choking on your own spit. You are far too pathetic for me to lay my hands on.”

Her voice was different, but I could not place how so until she spoke again.

“May the gods make it that we never have to see each other again.”

The truth came to me all in a rush. Now everything made sense.

I reached out to stop Omorhpia from walking away. “You are a boy.”

Omorhpia turned and there he had a smirk on his face. “Is that so?” He asked, but now his voice was girlish again.

I let go of him and shook my head. “You can’t trick me now. I know now. It was you. Everything was.”

Omorhpia laughed. “No one will believe you. Not without evidence.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “except for one person.”

At this, Omorhpia’s laughter was cut short. Fury burned in his eyes as he hissed, “It is sickening how obsessed he is with you. The only reason why I put up with his idiocy is because he is  _Aristos Achaion_ , but when he dare has the audacity to say your name when  _I_  am in the bed”—his voice rose nearly to a scream—“I cannot stand it!”

I stared at him, this shaking, livid boy. “Omorhpia—”

“Do not call me that!” He yelled. “I am sick of that name!”

“Then what should I call you?” I asked.

“It does not matter,” he said with a huff. “I would rather kill myself than tell you.”

I stared, aghast. “Do not say such things.”

Omorhpia shrieked, startling me. “I have to spell it out for you, don’t I?” He demanded. “I have failed and you have won. There! I admitted it! To make love with the best of the Greeks, what else could be the biggest prize, the better conquest, the proudest victory?”

 _Oh._  So that was why. Why he had set me up, why he had gotten so close to Achilles, why I'd sometimes find Achilles drunk. I wondered if Omorhpia had had a hand in my punishment, so that I would be apart from Achilles, and if, because Achilles was here, he had willingly come here. I closed my eyes, all too aware of my mistakes.  _Achilles, I’m sorry._

Then, something important overwhelmed me. Omorhpia had been in control, but no longer, because in the end, he was only a boy who had yet to learn about the world and its people, and there were things I knew that he would not be able to comprehend now, but still I tried.

“No,” I disagreed and the firmness of my voice almost surprised me. “You are wrong. There is something far greater than to make love with the best of the Greeks.”

“And what is that?” Omorhpia scoffed.

“To be loved by him.”

Omorhpia did not understand.

I placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled a small smile. My voice softened. “One day you will meet someone and you will know what I mean.”

He scowled.

I walked away, paying him no mind as he shouted at my back, “You are infuriating! I hope the Trojans defeat all you stupid Greeks!”

* * *

Achilles was not in his tent. Perhaps he had gone to visit Thetis.

I waited, anxiously. Perhaps there was a meeting. When the sun began to set below the horizon, I reluctantly started for my tent. Perhaps he did not want to see me.

On the way, I passed the Myrmidon who had been with Omorhpia in the forest. “What did Omorhpia want with you?” I asked him.

He glanced over his shoulder as if he feared Omorhpia would appear. “She wanted me to take her to the Trojans,” he whispered.

The next day, one of Agamemnon’s men would be reported missing, but at that moment, the Myrmidon and I assumed Omorhpia lost in the forest.

“She is beautiful, but so temperamental,” the Myrmidon murmured.

I nodded. “She is full of surprises.”

Back at my tent, I was about to enter when I saw a shadowy figure sitting inside. My heart did a leap in my chest. I let go of the flaps and nearly tripped backwards.

“Patroclus?” The figure stepped out from the tent and to my relief, it was Achilles.

“Achilles.” His name fell out from my lips like a thank you. I put a hand to my chest, waiting for my heart to calm.

Achilles grabbed me by the arms. His words when they did came in a rush, miserable and desperate. He had most likely been waiting in my tent for hours, tormented by words he wanted to say. “Patroclus, I’ve thought over your words and I was wrong. It probably was Omorhpia. I was too out of my mind to notice, and truthfully, we did not get far at all. She slapped me across the face. But I know that that still does not excuse how stupid my actions were. I’m so sorry.”

I silenced him with a kiss. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” I told him. “I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Achilles asked.

I kissed him again and led him into my tent where I told him the whole story—from Automedon and Diomedes’ accounts of a mysterious boy to the truth about Omorhpia’s gender and everything in-between.

Afterwards, Achilles was silent, taking all of it in. “I still am sorry,” he said at last.

“I am sorry, too,” I said. “Omorhpia is so beautiful and I was scared by what it could mean if…” I took a deep breath, unable to find the words.

Achilles placed his hands over mine. “How is Omorhpia to have a piece of my heart when you already have it in its entirety?“ He asked.

I smiled.

Achilles kissed me. “I don’t want to leave. You were right. It is comfortable in here.”

"We have fourteen nights left,” I reminded him, though it pained me to say so.

"Well, it is a good night for stargazing.” In the darkness, I could almost make out the mischief in his expression. “I could bring my lyre and you could bring Briseis’ mat.”

My smile widened. “I will meet you on the hill.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you tumblr, check out the fanfic here: http://faerielament.tumblr.com/post/126218808931/the-song-of-achilles-to-be-loved-by-him - and reblog/like!


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